Considering NOLA
Today is 100 days until my due date. That means that tomorrow is 99 days, which is double digits! I remember when my pregnancy tickers got down to below 200 days, and that seemed like a big deal. If I were elected President today, I'd give my 100 days speech on July 15. Heh.
I think I'm getting beyond the glory days of energy and comfort of the second trimester. I'm tasting my first hints of renewed fatigue, heartburn, and feeling big and pregnant. And three more months to go!
But things seem to be going well. The baby moves a lot, and I can tell she's getting bigger and stronger. She should be something like 14 inches long now and about two pounds. And if she were born today, she might not die. All the same, I hope she'll stay in there for the next 100 days or thereabouts so that she'll be born healthy and fat.
I was working on an entry about my feelings upon returning to New Orleans, but it was getting too long and complicated. The analysis is actually pretty simple. When I went there last year, from the moment I recognized Lake Pontchartrain from the airplane, I felt a palpable longing for my old life and my old city. I felt so renewed and at home in the warmth. Maybe I didn't feel 100% In My Place anymore: I went to my job, and my replacement was in my desk; I went to some of my old haunts, and they were still closed with hurricane damage; I went to the prom, and there was a whole new class of MFA students with all their own jokes and memories and things to look forward to together. Still, I didn't feel so far removed from everything that I actually felt Out Of Place there. I still wanted it back. Badly.
This time was different. I saw the Lake, and I saw the city poking up through the haze, and I saw the rooftops of Metairie, many of them no longer covered in blue tarps. And it didn't feel the same. It felt like the start of a visit.
I landed, browsed the gift shops, got lost in the airport (did they do some kind of major renovation in the last year? Because I don't remember it being so complicated to get through), and went to find my rental car. I drove by my old house, and it looked the same. I drove by Bayou Bagelry to try to find breakfast, and it was closed, and replaced with an entirely new business. I drove by the Lake, and all the knocked-over lamp posts and crumbled shelters seemed not to have changed. A lot of the houses near UNO were still abandoned or gutted, but I had to admit that it was clear construction was going on.
It was depressing that so much was still wrecked, but heartening that things were happening.
I went to see the friends I was planning to stay with, and we spent some time catching up, and it was nice... and then they had things to do. I wanted to find some good food, so I said I'd call them later.
Before I was finished eating a superb falafel platter at Mona's, I'd decided that there wasn't enough to fill my time between Friday at lunch time and Saturday at wedding time. I hadn't been welcomed like a returning soldier, and I didn't feel comfortable enough with anyone anymore to pick up the phone and propose a Parkview meetup for that night. The people I had let know I would be in town hadn't shown interest in getting together beyond the noncommittal, "Oh, yeah, I'm sure something will be going on." Others who I might have put forth more of an effort to see weren't in town themselves. And those I might have hung out with back when I lived there, themselves have moved away.
That was all kind of depressing--but more than that, I kind of decided I really wanted to see my family. I thought about it over the falafel. If I went to Pensacola and saw my family, I'd spend the night there, which meant that anything that happened in New Orleans that night, I'd miss. I talked to Lee about it. He seemed to think the calls might flow in once everyone got off of work, and if I left, I'd miss out on seeing people. It seemed like a big risk: I'd been so excited about going back, so how could I give up the chance to see all my old friends when they called?
But I kind of knew that wasn't true. I'm not on people's list.
So I took the risk and went to Pensacola, and I'm really glad I did. I got to see my sisters and my brother and my dad. I got to show them my belly! We had dinner together, and it was a lot of laughs and a good, good time.
I thought I'd skip over to swing night, too, since it was Friday, just for a minute to say hello, but after we ate, I got so, so, sooooo tired that I couldn't do it. I was sitting in my dad's family room, looking at old pictures of my mom when she was pregnant, and I could barely get up out of the chair and put away the photo album. I think it was just after 8:30 then, and I knew Travis and Meagan would be teaching the lesson until 9:30, and I just couldn't keep my eyes open.
The next day, I got up and went back to New Orleans and hung out with Missy and Arin. I went to the wedding, and I saw nearly everyone I'd hoped to see, and I had a really, really nice time. I saw two really groovy people get married, I chatted it up with some old friends, I ate some good food, and I enjoyed some beautiful weather.
And in the morning, I got dressed, returned my rental car, and came back to my Ghetto Mansion and my husband and the place where I work and where my baby will be born.
The bottom line is that I was a visitor in New Orleans this time. When I heard "Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans" at the wedding, I commented to Missy, "The answer to the question is yes." And I do know what it means. But maybe now I don't "miss it each night and day." And maybe now it's more real to me what I always tried to tell myself: that what I really missed more than anything was the past, a time before a really trying period of my life. Something you can't ever get back, no matter what your driver's license and voter's registration cards say.
The trying period didn't end as soon as we got here. In fact, if 2005 was difficult for the events it forced upon me, then 2006 was difficult for the recovery I had to navigate. A lot of that came to a head last summer, and it finally eased up a lot last fall. When I found out I was pregnant and stopped drinking and smoking. When I suddenly had so much more to focus on than the past.
This doesn't change my ambivalence about Connecticut. Connecticut is still cold; many of its citizens are still unreasonably focused on which grain of this postage-stamp-sized state you live in; the taxes are still high; the food is still bland. I wouldn't say I've made my home here. But I guess I've made my life here. Or maybe it doesn't matter where; I've just made my life.
This time, I had a lot to come back to when I got on the northbound plane. Maybe last year it felt like I had more ahead of me as I flew over the Mason-Dixon line.
You often hear parents talk about how their children saved them from themselves. I think my baby has already done a lot for me. I'm not sure what it is I'm standing on, but I do finally feel as if there's solid ground beneath my feet, and Lee is standing here with me, and I know we have a lot to look forward to.
I think I'm getting beyond the glory days of energy and comfort of the second trimester. I'm tasting my first hints of renewed fatigue, heartburn, and feeling big and pregnant. And three more months to go!
But things seem to be going well. The baby moves a lot, and I can tell she's getting bigger and stronger. She should be something like 14 inches long now and about two pounds. And if she were born today, she might not die. All the same, I hope she'll stay in there for the next 100 days or thereabouts so that she'll be born healthy and fat.
I was working on an entry about my feelings upon returning to New Orleans, but it was getting too long and complicated. The analysis is actually pretty simple. When I went there last year, from the moment I recognized Lake Pontchartrain from the airplane, I felt a palpable longing for my old life and my old city. I felt so renewed and at home in the warmth. Maybe I didn't feel 100% In My Place anymore: I went to my job, and my replacement was in my desk; I went to some of my old haunts, and they were still closed with hurricane damage; I went to the prom, and there was a whole new class of MFA students with all their own jokes and memories and things to look forward to together. Still, I didn't feel so far removed from everything that I actually felt Out Of Place there. I still wanted it back. Badly.
This time was different. I saw the Lake, and I saw the city poking up through the haze, and I saw the rooftops of Metairie, many of them no longer covered in blue tarps. And it didn't feel the same. It felt like the start of a visit.
I landed, browsed the gift shops, got lost in the airport (did they do some kind of major renovation in the last year? Because I don't remember it being so complicated to get through), and went to find my rental car. I drove by my old house, and it looked the same. I drove by Bayou Bagelry to try to find breakfast, and it was closed, and replaced with an entirely new business. I drove by the Lake, and all the knocked-over lamp posts and crumbled shelters seemed not to have changed. A lot of the houses near UNO were still abandoned or gutted, but I had to admit that it was clear construction was going on.
It was depressing that so much was still wrecked, but heartening that things were happening.
I went to see the friends I was planning to stay with, and we spent some time catching up, and it was nice... and then they had things to do. I wanted to find some good food, so I said I'd call them later.
Before I was finished eating a superb falafel platter at Mona's, I'd decided that there wasn't enough to fill my time between Friday at lunch time and Saturday at wedding time. I hadn't been welcomed like a returning soldier, and I didn't feel comfortable enough with anyone anymore to pick up the phone and propose a Parkview meetup for that night. The people I had let know I would be in town hadn't shown interest in getting together beyond the noncommittal, "Oh, yeah, I'm sure something will be going on." Others who I might have put forth more of an effort to see weren't in town themselves. And those I might have hung out with back when I lived there, themselves have moved away.
That was all kind of depressing--but more than that, I kind of decided I really wanted to see my family. I thought about it over the falafel. If I went to Pensacola and saw my family, I'd spend the night there, which meant that anything that happened in New Orleans that night, I'd miss. I talked to Lee about it. He seemed to think the calls might flow in once everyone got off of work, and if I left, I'd miss out on seeing people. It seemed like a big risk: I'd been so excited about going back, so how could I give up the chance to see all my old friends when they called?
But I kind of knew that wasn't true. I'm not on people's list.
So I took the risk and went to Pensacola, and I'm really glad I did. I got to see my sisters and my brother and my dad. I got to show them my belly! We had dinner together, and it was a lot of laughs and a good, good time.
I thought I'd skip over to swing night, too, since it was Friday, just for a minute to say hello, but after we ate, I got so, so, sooooo tired that I couldn't do it. I was sitting in my dad's family room, looking at old pictures of my mom when she was pregnant, and I could barely get up out of the chair and put away the photo album. I think it was just after 8:30 then, and I knew Travis and Meagan would be teaching the lesson until 9:30, and I just couldn't keep my eyes open.
The next day, I got up and went back to New Orleans and hung out with Missy and Arin. I went to the wedding, and I saw nearly everyone I'd hoped to see, and I had a really, really nice time. I saw two really groovy people get married, I chatted it up with some old friends, I ate some good food, and I enjoyed some beautiful weather.
And in the morning, I got dressed, returned my rental car, and came back to my Ghetto Mansion and my husband and the place where I work and where my baby will be born.
The bottom line is that I was a visitor in New Orleans this time. When I heard "Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans" at the wedding, I commented to Missy, "The answer to the question is yes." And I do know what it means. But maybe now I don't "miss it each night and day." And maybe now it's more real to me what I always tried to tell myself: that what I really missed more than anything was the past, a time before a really trying period of my life. Something you can't ever get back, no matter what your driver's license and voter's registration cards say.
The trying period didn't end as soon as we got here. In fact, if 2005 was difficult for the events it forced upon me, then 2006 was difficult for the recovery I had to navigate. A lot of that came to a head last summer, and it finally eased up a lot last fall. When I found out I was pregnant and stopped drinking and smoking. When I suddenly had so much more to focus on than the past.
This doesn't change my ambivalence about Connecticut. Connecticut is still cold; many of its citizens are still unreasonably focused on which grain of this postage-stamp-sized state you live in; the taxes are still high; the food is still bland. I wouldn't say I've made my home here. But I guess I've made my life here. Or maybe it doesn't matter where; I've just made my life.
This time, I had a lot to come back to when I got on the northbound plane. Maybe last year it felt like I had more ahead of me as I flew over the Mason-Dixon line.
You often hear parents talk about how their children saved them from themselves. I think my baby has already done a lot for me. I'm not sure what it is I'm standing on, but I do finally feel as if there's solid ground beneath my feet, and Lee is standing here with me, and I know we have a lot to look forward to.